Beauty Chorus, The (11 page)

Megan’s eyes opened wide. The light from the mirror ball spinning above the dancers shifted over her. She watched the women in elegant evening dresses being swept around
the shadows of the dance floor by men in uniform, and began to move in time to the big band tune. ‘This place is amazing!’

A young soldier turned as she spoke. ‘Would you care to dance?’

‘Oh, I’d love to!’ She took his arm.

Stella nudged Evie as she joined her. ‘You look better.’

‘Thanks.’ The strap of Evie’s evening shoe was already digging into her ankle and she was beginning to regret wearing such high heels. They watched the soldier swing Megan into
the air, and the shifting light caught her face, her delighted smile. Evie felt time stand still for a moment. Stella laughed indulgently and said something to her. The moment passed, and the dance
went on. ‘Hmm?’ Evie said, distracted.

‘I said, we shall have to keep an eye on our little friend.’ As Joy waved from the bar, Stella raised her hand in greeting. ‘There they are.’ The girls cut through the
crowd.

‘Hello, darling.’ Joy kissed Evie. ‘Your dress is divine!’

‘Do you like it?’ She smoothed the emerald satin gown at her collarbone just as Beau turned to hand a Martini to Joy. His eyes travelled from Evie’s ankles up to her defiant
expression. ‘Good evening, sir.’ She saluted.

‘You’re a civilian, Miss Chase, and I’m off duty,’ he said. ‘Can I get you girls a drink?’

‘A Martini would be delightful.’ Evie sat on a stool at the bar and pulled out her cigarette case from her bag. She offered him a Player’s.

‘Thank you.’ He flicked open a book of matches on the bar, lighting the cigarettes.

‘Evie and I are old pals, Beau,’ Joy said. ‘The last time I saw her, she had a darling little iguana draped over the shoulder of her evening gown.’

‘Poor thing, he went everywhere with me for a while,’ Evie said.

‘It was terribly chic, darling! Whatever happened to him?’

‘I broke down one night on the way back from a party and he fell into the engine bay.’

‘No! How ghastly.’

Beau swirled the ice in his scotch. ‘I’ve seen how you drive, Miss Chase. Perhaps the poor chap was taking the quick way out.’

‘There you are, Alex darling.’ The pale girl from the cloakroom reached across Beau and picked up a silver beaded purse from the bar. As her hand rested on his arm, he flinched.

‘Olivia!’ Joy said a little too brightly. ‘What a lovely surprise.’ The girls air-kissed.

‘Are you still here?’ Beau turned away from her, tapping his cigarette in the heavy crystal ashtray.

‘Don’t be like that, darling.’ Olivia’s eyes welled with tears again. ‘I thought you might—’

‘No, you didn’t think, did you, Olivia?’ he snapped. ‘That’s the problem. You just turn up out of the blue expecting everything to be back to normal. When
frankly—’

‘Now, now, children,’ Joy interrupted. ‘Let’s not make a scene.’

Beau caught himself, glanced at her. ‘Of course. Please excuse me.’

‘I think it’s best if I go.’ Olivia’s pale blue eyes grew calm as Beau handed Evie her cocktail. ‘Will you walk me out, Alex?’

‘Why?’ His face was expressionless, but the tension showed in the flex of his jaw. ‘You had no difficulty leaving before.’

Olivia turned her gaze from Beau to Evie. ‘We haven’t been introduced.’ She offered her a dry, limp hand. ‘Olivia Shuster. Alexander’s fiancée.’

‘Evie Chase,’ she said.
Poor girl
, she thought as she shook her hand.
He really is being hateful to her.

‘Chase …’ Olivia tried to place her in this little group. ‘Iron? Or is it steel?’ She waved her hand dismissively. ‘Horses? Something to do with
racing?’

Evie returned her stare. ‘I’m a pilot.’

Olivia raised her chin, stared down at her. ‘Oh,’ she said slowly, as if that explained a lot. ‘Alex – Mummy and Daddy are expecting us for lunch next weekend,’ she
said to Beau without looking at him.

‘I’m working.’

‘Such a bore.’ She pouted. ‘You’re always working these days.’

‘There is a war on.’

Olivia glanced over her shoulder at him, the long beads of her dress swinging as she turned. ‘Call me.’

What was all that about?
Evie wondered, but before she had a chance to quiz Joy, the horn player blew a reveille, and as the band began to play ‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy’ Joy
and Stella were pulled onto the dance floor by a couple of the RAF pilots.

‘You’re not dancing, Miss Chase?’ Beau said finally.

‘Maybe later.’ She watched him curiously.

‘I apologise for that little scene.’ He shook his head and exhaled a plume of smoke. ‘Olivia can be difficult.’

‘I imagine you give as good as you get.’ Evie stared at him until he met her gaze. ‘I have a feeling we got off on rather a bad foot.’

‘Do you think so?’

‘You seem to be under the impression I’m a silly little girl.’

‘You mean you’re not?’ He turned to her.

‘Are you always this charming?’

‘According to Olivia I have all the charm of a sabre-tooth tiger in need of root-canal work.’

Evie sipped her drink. ‘From the little I’ve seen you’d give that tiger a run for its money.’

He pushed his empty glass away, trying not to smile. ‘Why don’t you go play with the boys, Miss Chase? I’m not in the mood to toy with “little girls” as you
say.’

She slipped off her stool and stubbed out her cigarette. ‘For a moment I thought you were going to tell me to go home and count my diamonds again.’

He gazed down at her. ‘If I’m going to have to repeat everything twice, you’ll never get through your training.’

Evie stalked away, fuming, to the dance floor, and tapped a tall, good-looking young pilot on the shoulder. He was only too delighted to dance with her, and she hoped Beau was
watching as the officer swung her skilfully around in his arms. But when she spun around, she saw Beau had turned away, and was drinking alone at the bar.

‘Are you having fun, darling?’ Joy asked as she sat at their table when the song finished.

‘Yes, it’s marvellous to have a night out.’ Evie tossed her bag onto the chair beside her. As she recovered her breath, her gaze travelled to where Beau stood alone at the bar.
‘What’s the story with our Wing Commander, or Count, or whatever he is? He’s the most unfriendly man I’ve ever met.’

Joy laughed. ‘Do you think so? You mustn’t mind Beau. He used to be great fun, and I’m sure he will be again. He’s had rather a tough time of it lately.’

‘You mean the crash?’

‘Well, I meant more all this business with Olivia.’ Joy leant forwards. ‘He wasn’t expecting to see her tonight, you know, she just turned up. It’s the first time
he’s seen her since he got out of hospital and I think it was rather a shock.’

‘You mean she hadn’t been to see him at all?’

Joy shook her head. ‘She took the crash very badly. Walked out on him, called the wedding off.’

‘Did she?’ Evie said thoughtfully. ‘That explains a lot.’

‘From tonight’s little drama it’s obvious she’s desperate for a second chance now, but he’s saying it’s over.’ She sipped her cocktail. ‘Then
again, I’ve seen girls like Olivia manage to hang onto their man through sheer damn persistence. Once they get their hooks into a chap …’ Joy pulled a face like a wildcat,
bunched her fingers up like paws. ‘If Beau’s having second thoughts I can’t say I blame him.’

9

Bright winter sun filtered through the newly cleaned windows of the cottage as the girls slipped on their coats for church.

‘I can’t believe how nice this place is now.’ Evie looked around the living room proudly. Every surface gleamed, and bright red gingham curtains cheered up the room, picking up
the colours of the cushions liberated from Leo’s flat. ‘It’s really rather satisfying, housework, isn’t it?’

‘You’ll be offering the peasants cake next,’ Stella said drily.

Evie threw a cushion at her. ‘Do I sound that spoilt?’

‘No, darling. But you do make me laugh. I can assure you the novelty of housework soon wears off. A lot of the girls were saying they just do the bits that show these days. They’re
too busy for anything else.’ Stella straightened the cushion, patted it back into shape. ‘This hovel jolly well should look nice the amount of time we spent cleaning at the
weekend.’ She checked her hair in the little shell-framed mirror they had picked up at a junk store in town. ‘Where’s Megan?’

‘I don’t know, she went out early. Heaven knows where she gets her energy from.’

‘That’s being a teenager, my dear.’ Just as Stella slicked on some red lipstick, the front door flew open.

Megan burst into the room with a chicken under each arm.

‘Look what I’ve found!’

‘Where did you get them?’ Evie screwed up her nose as the white hen struggled to break free, sending a cloud of dust motes into the air.

‘I traded them with the farmer,’ Megan said, laughing. ‘When we were tidying up yesterday I noticed the old coop out at the back. You know what this means?’

‘Fresh eggs!’ Stella said.

‘He says they’re good layers.’

Evie glanced at her watch. ‘Come on, we’d better get a move on. The service is in a couple of hours.’

As Evie started the car, Megan ran around to the back garden and put the chickens in the coop. ‘What exactly did you trade with the farmer?’ Evie asked as she
jumped into the back seat.

‘Not that!’ She blushed. ‘I said I’d give them a hand with the animals once in a while, that’s all. They’re short-handed with the men away, and apparently
their land girl is not much cop. Spends her whole time mooning around in bed.’ She leant forward conspiratorially. ‘The farmer’s wife reckons she’s pregnant!’ she
whispered.

Evie sighed. ‘Honestly. There’s no excuse for getting yourself in the club these days. It’s ridiculous. People are getting bumped off or knocked up right, left and
centre.’

It was standing room only in St Martin in the Fields by the time the girls arrived. In the front pew a distinguished man in ATA uniform sat next to Pauline Gower, Badger and
the other commanders. He was chatting over his shoulder with Beau, and Evie recognised his face from the papers. ‘That’s Pop d’Erlanger isn’t it?’ she whispered to
Stella as the organ burst into life, wheezing out the opening bars of ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’.

‘Commodore d’Erlanger to you,’ Stella said.

‘Look, there are the girls.’ Evie pointed. ‘Lois, Mona. I can’t see Teddy anywhere.’

‘He said to me yesterday that he believes in only “King and Country”,’ Megan whispered. ‘And someone has to hold the fort.’

‘Everyone else has turned out though,’ Stella agreed, watching the vicar of White Waltham as he appeared from the vestry. At his side a young curate with dark wavy hair shepherded
the choir boys to their stall. He reminded her of Gregory Peck. She pictured him more in a sharp double-breasted suit than vestments. As they sang the first hymn she found her eyes drawn again and
again to the curate. There was something familiar about him.

‘Lovely service,’ Evie said to the vicar as they shook hands on the way out of the church. Stella was just behind her, and as she raised a white gloved hand to
shake hands with the curate she found her heart was racing.

‘I hope we’ll see you again in White Waltham,’ he said, and for a moment his clear, dark eyes met Stella’s, before she was swept along as the congregation flooded out
onto the church steps.

‘Miss Chase?’ Badger shook Evie’s hand. ‘So glad to see you decided to join us.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Damn shame about Johnnie. A fine woman, and a fine pilot.’ He pulled on his leather gloves.

‘Is there any news about what happened?’

Badger shook his head. ‘They haven’t found her yet. Perhaps they never will.’ He paused. ‘There are all sorts of stories going round, but no one knows. Let it be a lesson
to you, girls. Keep your wits about you.’

I was so close. I gambled and I lost. How was I to know boats transporting barrage balloons inland had been set adrift at sea after one of the craft went down? Ironically
the boat was called the
Carry On
. Balloons on the coast should have meant I could bail out there over land, while the plane carried on out to sea. Instead they drew me too far. I carried on
too far.

It’s too late. Now I am down, flying low over the water, the engine revving, cutting, wings slipping, sliding towards a convoy of boats, and I am counting, one, two, three, the choppy
grey Thames estuary below me. ‘Don’t let it hit a boat, please don’t let it hit a boat,’ I whisper, bracing myself for the moment to bail out, the nauseous sour taste of
fear in my mouth. Then I am wrenching off the door. The plane flies on without me, and I fling myself out.

Oh God, the cold air. It takes my breath away. Some eyewitnesses say my parachute unfurls above me, the whoosh of the air dragging me up and up. For a moment I hang weightless in the air,
snow falling around me, and think,
This is how the birds feel.
England lies before me, dark and smoking, the Kentish countryside dotted with silver-grey balloons like a macabre celebration.
Then I am falling, drifting down, anticipating the dark water. The plane, these eyewitnesses say, appeared to be under control as it came down, making slow circles before hitting the water. Was
there someone else in there? Perhaps that someone told me to save myself, that he would bring it down, take his chances. Others say I landed it myself, smacking the plane onto the water ‘like
a pancake’, right between the
Haslemere
and a destroyer. I have heard the stories so often, sometimes I wonder myself.

Later, the captain of the destroyer is handed all they manage to rescue from the sea. He opens my bag. The contents are entirely dry – lipstick, keys, a wallet. He gasps. ‘My God.
It was Amy Johnson.’

There will be a telegraph to the house in Bridlington: ‘Missing, believed killed’. There will be prayers in the Methodist chapel. In a week’s time Ciss and Will make a toast
to their lost daughter in the restaurant at Skindles, still hoping in their hearts that I will walk through the door at any moment. Father takes the five glasses, smashes them so that no one will
drink from them again, and keeps the fragments of glass at our friends the Hofers for me.